


Tea for Two

by scarletalphabet



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Puns & Word Play, awkward nerd love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-27
Updated: 2013-09-27
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletalphabet/pseuds/scarletalphabet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While most of S.H.I.E.L.D. breathes a sigh of relief and returns to normal after saving Michael Peterson, Fitz is still running on the nervous energy of the day.  Simmons shares her tea and wisdom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tea for Two

**Author's Note:**

> This is solely based off the pilot. In my headcanon for Simmons she's unashamedly blunt about things when she expresses herself (not always socially acceptable) and Fitz tends to be a bit more hesitant and reserved. Who knows what the coming episodes will bring. Many thanks to earlymorningechoes for beta-ing.

Fitz stood off to the side, hands jammed awkwardly in his coat pockets as he watched the immediate aftermath of their latest operation. He felt like he should be helping, but he didn't know what to do. His expertise in engineering bore little in common with that necessary to repair partially destroyed buildings, and even less with that necessary to soothe the local population. He looked around with what he hoped was a calming smile as life inched back to normal. It wasn't every day that you saved the world. Well, not all of the world. Just some of it. Just Los Angeles. Or part of it. Making a difference through your own intellectual efforts was thrilling any way you looked at it.

A tap on his shoulder knocked him from his stupor and nearly made him fall back over a bench that had escaped destruction. Regaining his balance he turned to see Simmons standing there. “Alright there?” she asked, a furrow of concern clear on her face.

“Yes,” he replied casually. “It's good. Er, I'm good. Did you need something?”

“Not as much as you need some sleep it seems,” she said, with a teasing smile that did not completely cover up her concern. “Anyhow, we're heading out. Back to the bus. The janitors are going to take it from here.”

Fitz chuckled at the slang term Simmons used to refer to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s clean up crew, the people responsible for going behind and ensuring that all traces of the unusual were erased. There was little expectation anymore that there wouldn't be a single trace left, particularly with the increasing spectacularlity of unusual events, but they still managed to do a remarkable job. “I suppose you're right,” he said. “A good long sleep wouldn't be amiss.”

Simmons nodded towards the exit. “Night night?” As she turned and headed out Fitz caught a glimpse of her biting her lip in an effort not to burst out into riotous laughter.

Fitz glared at her retreating form. “It's growing on you I see!” he called as he jogged to catch up to her.

*******

Fitz tossed and turned as he tried to sleep, tucked away in one of the bunks on the grounded plane. He had thought that the rush to find something that could counter the effects of the Centipede would make him pass out at the first chance he had to sleep, but it seemed that his body wasn't so eager to follow that logic. He had tried everything from scientifically proven meditation techniques to good old counting sheep, though the sheep all seemed to have eyes that glowed with an eerie amber hue. His grandfather had sworn by a little Scotch in your bedtime tea, but he had neither of those things close at hand.

“I need to do something,” he muttered. “A little old fashioned elbow grease or analysis and I'm sure the adrenaline will wear off.” Immediately he thought of Simmons, who could surely tell him everything he wanted to know about adrenaline and more. “Perhaps she could read me one of her journal articles to put me to sleep.” He chuckled as he pulled on shoes to ward off the chill of the metallic flooring in the lab. “Though that's not entirely fair.” With a glance in the narrow mirror for vanity's sake he stepped out of the room and headed for the lab. “Right. Talking to yourself again. Not a good sign.”

Fitz passed two other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents on his way, nodding in polite recognition though he couldn't recall either of their names for the life of him. He stopped short when he got to the lab, which looked more pristine than any place of intellectual work had a right to be. Surfaces cleared, papers filed, containers stacked in out of the way places. Utterly perplexed he ran a hand through his hair as he tried to figure out just who had gone through the lab. Simmons wasn't the neat-freak type, but no one else would have violated their space, except for perhaps Agent Coulson, but he had left on another mission of some kind. Checking every inch of the room he found not a thing out of place. He chalked it up to some new staff member restoring order after their last case and walked over to his computer terminal, pulling up one of his long term projects. None of these projects had any likelihood of seeing the light of day in the near future, but he was hopeful that perhaps one or two could become reality if he worked at it hard enough.

Standing with the screen at chest level (all the better to pace in front of) he tapped the counter as he tried to figure out the next step. He subconsciously tilted his head, as if something was compelling him to look at the problem from a different angle. Blowing up the image of the device he was working on until it nearly filled the screen he began to talk his way through the issue. “Perhaps if I can find some way to decrease the power requirements from the source, but increase the connectivity to the field generator it might be just enough to produce a sustained beam. More finesse than brute strength I should think.” Numbers flew out onto the screen as he fiddled with the equations. Some of the math he could do in his head, but it often helped to see the numbers, and the auto save function would ensure that he wouldn't lose his work. “Tweak that bit there, add a little bulk to the casing there. Yes, this just might work.”

“What are you working on there?” called a voice, quiet but sounding loud against the hum of his own words.

Fitz nearly fell over for the second time in twenty four hours. “Thor's hammer don't scare me like that Simmons!”

She gave him an incredulous look. “Thor's hammer? Really?”

Fitz shrugged sheepishly. “I've been trying to...diversify my exclamations. Coulson gave me a withering look like you wouldn't believe the other day when I dropped a case on my foot and swore. Not angry, that's not his style. More like disappointed.”

“Your track record with naming aside, the original question still stands,” Simmons told him.

“It's nothing,” Fitz blurted out, suddenly nervous and moving to block the screen. “Just an idea. Couldn't sleep you see. It's a right shame because you never know when some new oddity will spring up and they'll have this plane haring off after it. Need sleep while we can get it.”

“I couldn't sleep either,” Simmons admitted. She gestured around at the immaculate lab. “Why do you think this place looks so neat? I thought a little busywork might help.”

“Well, did it?” Fitz asked, wincing to himself as he realized how stupid that sounded. Of course it didn't help or else she wouldn't be standing in front of him.

Whether she thought the question stupid or not she thankfully didn't say, but instead pulled out a thermos and set it down on the central table. “Tea. No caffeine of course, but it's supposed to be soothing. I've only got the one cup, but you're welcome to share.” She poured some tea into the thermos's lid, setting it down as well. “Needs to cool a tad.”

“So...” Fitz said, casting about for something to fill the silence. “What do you think about our newest team member.”

“Well, she must be something special since you've never offered to show _me_ your equipment,” Simmons complained, a look of mock outrage on her face.

Fitz dropped his head into his hands with an audible thud. “I am never going to live that down am I?”

“Probably not,” she concurred.

He peeked one eye out from behind his hands. “Figure all of S.H.I.E.L.D. has heard about it by now.”

“Probably.” She pulled his hands away from his face. “I wouldn't worry about it too much if I were you though. I'm sure they'll forget about it by the time the next weird thing pops up.” She carefully tested the tea with her tongue, taking a long sip when she had judged it cool enough. With her eyes turned away Fitz found his gaze lingering, distracted by the dying wisps of steam rising up around her face. “Tea?” she offered again, placing the cup in his still extended hands.

“They'll forget about it,” Fitz muttered as he rushed to take the cup in an effort to prove that he hadn't been staring. “But you'll always be there to remind me.” He took a sip and curled his hands around the cup, drawing a warmth from it that had nothing to do with the perfectly climate-controlled lab.

“I should hope so. I never imagined myself as a front lines, middle of the action type, but I can't believe that today's situation will be the last of it. Well we weren't exactly on the front lines, but the point remains.” She smiled optimistically, drawing his gaze up from the concrete support of the tea. “The point being that if I'm around to tease you about it, we're _both_ around to laugh about it. There's no FitzSimmons without Fitz.”

“Or Simmons,” he echoed, a smile growing on his face.

“JemmaLeo just doesn't have the same ring to it,” she joked.

“Oi, who said it can't be LeoJemma,” he protested. He squinted in concentration for a moment before continuing. “No, you're right. That sounds absolutely horrible.”

“Either way, you've been monopolizing the tea for far too long.”

“Oh, that.” Fitz blushed and held out the cup. As he handed it back his fingers twitched and accidentally flipped the cup upwards, spilling its still hot contents all over Simmons. "Shite!" he swore, one arm reaching aimlessly to help Simmons as she stood there dripping in chamomile while his body turned to look around the lab for anything to help clean up the mess. With one turn he kicked the now empty teacup under a table, the ring of metal on metal resounding through the room. "Where are the bloody towels when you need them?" He pulled off his t-shirt in one swift move and started to mop Simmons's face up. "I am so so sorry. Such a klutz I can't believe it."

Simmons spluttered at the unexpected action and took the shirt from his hands. Once her face was reasonably tea-free she finally spoke. "A little hot but it's alright Fitz. Really." Fitz continued to apologize as though he hadn't heard, turned away from her face in embarrassment. "Fitz,” she called again. “Leo."

He finally stopped and looked up when she used his first name. “Yeah?” he muttered.

“Relax,” she said. “No harm done.” She unfurled the now dampened shirt in front of her. “Though I fear this has become more of a tea shirt than a t-shirt.”

Fitz couldn't help but laugh at the terrible pun. “I guess today just hasn't been my day.”

“Hasn't been your day?” Simmons repeated incredulously. “Hasn't been your day? I'd say considering the last minute save and the smashing success of the Night Night gun it's been quite the day.”

“Oh so you agree to call it that now?” Fitz quipped, grinning widely. “Great.” He flicked the computer screen off and gave a great yawn. “Guess I am quite tired after all. See you tomorrow.” 

Simmons narrowed her gaze at him. “Why you little—” In the blink of an eye she twirled Fitz's shirt up and snapped it at him.

Fitz yelped, clamping one hand down on his mouth as it came out at a far higher pitch than seemed possible. The distant sounds of patrolling boots turned to an insistent clatter on the staircase. “Everything alright down there?” a voice called. 

“Fine,” Fitz hurriedly replied. “I just...banged my knee on something.”

“If you're sure,” the voice said, sounding anything but.

“Yes the table must have shifted during the flight here,” Fitz assured him.

The boots retreated back in the direction whence they had come without another word. 

Once the footsteps had faded beyond hearing Simmons's frozen expression dissolved into unrestrained laughter, tempered only by the need to not draw attention to the unusually silent and deserted lower level. “Why do I feel like we're two teenagers caught doing something inappropriate in the basement?” she asked. “Together we probably have more degrees than most of the muscle on this plane.” She flicked a sideways glance at him that Fitz barely caught. “Though degrees and muscle aren't mutually exclusive.”

“You do have my shirt in your hands,” Fitz pointed out, projecting an air of confidence that he didn't really feel. Part of him was still stuck on the heady combination of Simmons, inappropriate things, and muscle. Why did that seem so tempting? It was just Simmons. “Plain old brilliant Simmons,” he murmured.

“Did you say something?” she asked.

“Nope,” claimed Fitz immediately, not realizing that he'd spoken that last phrase aloud. 

“Leo,” she stated plainly. “You can trust me. You seemed pretty confident earlier when your solution saved the day. What's different?”

“Our solution,” Fitz corrected. “And it deserved that thumbs up.”

“Well then maybe we can work on this new idea of yours,” she suggested. “Who knows what a fresh set of eyes and good teamwork could do again.”

Part of Fitz was screaming at himself to take the out she was offering, to retreat back into familiar working territory, while the other part was trying to drag him to admit what was on his mind. His body made the decision for him, turning to the screen to flick it back on. He took a deep breath and shook his head. “No,” he said clearly. He turned back around to a puzzled Simmons, pausing briefly to look at her with what he hoped was a distinct plea in his eyes to stop him before things got too awkward to recover from. 

Simmons looked up at him in expectation, not retreating but not moving towards him.

Fitz reached one hand down to her face, drawing it up to meet his, his smooth lips gliding over hers, worried from stress but retaining a lingering note of tea. His hands moved to hang awkwardly at his side for a moment, unsure of their place, before settling safely behind her head. He dropped them as the kiss broke, his eyes still squeezed shut. 

Silence.

His eyes flew open when her lips met his again, the unexpected movement pushing them back together against the table where the computer rested securely. Gaining confidence from her warm gaze he brought his hands to rest on her waist. His heartbeat calmed from its nervous sprint as she leaned into his touch. When they broke apart this time she lingered against him, her head resting under his chin. “Are we good?” he asked tentatively, needing to hear it put into words.

“We're better,” she declared. Before she could elaborate further an enormous clank sounded. They both whipped around to see the cargo ramp start to inch open. As the sound of running footsteps became clear Simmons ducked to where she had dropped Fitz's t-shirt and hastily shoved it back in his hands. 

Before he could process the fact that he should probably put it back on, one of the unknown agents that Fitz had passed earlier strode into the lab. “There's been a situation,” he announced. “Agent Coulson's on his way back but we're wheels up ASAP.” He took in Fitz's shirtless appearance. “I'm not even going to ask,” he called as he turned around to prepare the cargo bay for takeoff. 

Fitz hurriedly pulled his slightly damp shirt back on. He shrugged cheerfully at Simmons, feeling like even the impending unknown, however bizarre, could not destroy his mood. “Would he even believe it was just tea?”


End file.
